


Reverie

by CoffeeStars



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, hallucination AU, maybe it's both, or is it....DIMENSION TRAVELING, y'all there's time traveling up in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 18:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14899818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeStars/pseuds/CoffeeStars
Summary: His daydreams start to feel like he's being beaten with a club, but loving Geno from afar has always felt like this.





	Reverie

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr in parts - cleaned up for AO3 6/10/2018

 

 

“Look at me,” someone says. There’s shouting in the background, Geno’s angry roar intermingling with the man's concerned words. “Stay with us, kid.”

“I’m fine,” Sidney hears himself garble out. It’d been a dirty hit, but he doesn’t think it’s a concussion. So he pushes the ref away. “I can keep playing.”

“No, you’re not,” Tanger says, skating by and helping him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

He thinks he sees Geno tangled with the Flyers out of the corner of his eyes, orange jerseys being pulled and gloves discarded on the ice.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s probably not a concussion,” the doctor says.

Sidney makes a face. “Then I—“

“But I still want you to take it easy,” he says. “It was a pretty nasty hit, and symptoms aren’t always immediate.”

“I feel fine,” Sidney repeats stubbornly.

He finds out later that they lost the game, which makes the sting of guilt even worse.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _Feel okay?_ Geno’s text reads.

 _How long were you in the box_ , Sidney replies.

Geno sends a string of eyeless smilies and a cryptic, _Fight for you))))_

He’s really not supposed to be staring at any bright screens, but he’s certain the fluttering in his chest isn’t from the glow of his phone. _I don’t know_.

The text response comes quickly, _But for real, feel OK?_

_I’m—_

He’s just about to hit send, and something in the air shifts. For a split second, fast as lightening, the smell of fresh-baked apple pie and what sounds to be the muffled giggling of a child, wafts in.

He can’t focus his vision.

But once he blinks, the fog in his head dissipates. No more apple pies. No laughter. He’s the only person in his house, as always.

 _I’m fine, wouldn’t lie to you_ , Sidney finishes the message, and hits ‘Send.’

 

 

* * *

 

 

He thinks there might be a ghost in his home.

There are times, before the day breaks, that he feels the phantom weight of a person curved against his frame.

Or when he’s sitting by himself watching tape for the fifth time, seeing the same hit as his body on the TV fall to the ice, limp, he hears a young girl calling for a father, asking if he could come and help her with something.

Or when he’s in his backyard, listening to the same Sinatra song being crooned over and over again. Feeling hands on his waist, warm breath on his neck.

“Do you hear that?” Sidney asks one night, when Jake and the rookies are over at his place, the lot of them doing an excellent job of clearing out Sidney’s honey Cheerios that he keeps on the high shelf.

“Hear what?” Jake asks.

There’s soft singing, a song Sidney doesn’t recognize in a language that might’ve been Russian, coming from down the hall. A man’s voice, low and steady and just a little bit out of tune (but no less warm). But Jake’s wide eyes and sudden confusion pauses Sidney’s tongue.

“Never mind, I’m just—maybe it’s the neighbors.”

“Your neighbors are pretty far from you though,” Jake says. “You look pale, are you okay, man?”

“Yeah,” Sidney says. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He thinks about calling his parents, but he hates making his mother, of all people, worry.

Flower’s the next option, but he’s all the way in Vegas and the only thing he can do is tell Sidney to see the team doctor.

As he’s scrolling through Snapchat. Geno’s story shows that he’s at lunch with a couple of his Russian friends. He doesn’t understand what Geno’s saying into the camera, but he sounds like he’s having fun.

He thinks of telling Geno.

But the next photo on Geno’s story is a selfie—Geno’s sleepy, content face grinning as a woman Sidney doesn’t recognize leans on his shoulder, all perfect, piercing eyes and pouty ruby lips. It makes Sidney’s stomach churn, and he usually avoids looking at those photos.

He puts his phone away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Exactly one month after the concussion scare, Sidney’s making eggs for breakfast when his entire perspective changes in a literal blink of an eye. One second, he’s gazing at the tile pattern of his kitchen walls, and the next, the tiles are replaced with cream-colored bricks. Instead of his spatula, he’s holding a half-full mug of milky coffee.

He turns around, slowly, and realizes that he’s not even in his own house.

The sunlight is streaming through, his empty living room now decorated with rumpled furniture and toys strewn about the carpet. There’s an open coloring book on the coffee table, and the kitchen island is prepped with stacks of chocolate chip pancakes and cereal boxes. One of them reads, ‘ _Sofia’s’_ in blocky, Sharpied letters.

Before he has time to freak out, a little girl runs towards him, shriek-laughing as who seems to be her brother follows close behind

“Make him stop,” the girl giggles, clutching to Sidney’s legs. “Daddy, he’s gonna get us–”

He’s too stunned to react as Geno comes into view, holding a baby and looking adorably rumpled. 

“Good morning, baby,” he says, leaning in to kiss Sidney chastely and pretending not to see the little girl and boy hiding behind Sidney’s legs. “I’m seem to lose two kids. You on my side, right, Sid?”

Sidney gapes. “I’m–”

Then he blinks, and the entire scenes goes away as quickly as it’d come, and Sidney’s left alone in his kitchen again. 

He spends the next fifteen minute on the floor, trying to control his breathing and willing his heart rate to go back to normal.

His phone buzzes, a notification flashing with a text from Geno: _Ready for workout? Heading out now._

 

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn’t stop.

The next night, he’s sitting in his bed reading a book—by the time he notices, his room has morphed into something else entirely, and he’s very much not alone.

This time, Geno is sliding in bed next to him, reading glasses on, as he reminds gently, “Make sure you sign Sofia’s field trip form and donation check. You decide you give her money for lunch or you want me pack–?”

Sidney throws himself back, nearly falling off the bed.

“It’s just a dream,” Sidney tells himself. “I’m dreaming. This isn’t real, this isn’t real—”

This can’t happen outside, he thinks. If he’s losing his mind, they’ll never let him back on the ice.

He’ll lose hockey, and he’ll lose Geno.

(He's not sure which is worse).

 

 

* * *

 

 

The visions follow him like a shadow, earnest and always hits him like a slap.

It stays for months, and months, and _months_ ; for so long that Sidney thinks, a little deliriously, that he might just be getting used getting thrown head-first into his hallucinations.

Like when Sidney’s practicing by himself when he skates on center ice; when he looks down, there’s Geno, on one knee, holding out a ring box and looking at Sidney with so much nervousness and hope and  _love_ that Sidney can almost believe it’s real. 

Sometimes he’s stretching on the living room floor and then all of a sudden, he’s getting dogpiled by two kids and real dogs–a sweet little labradoodle and a pug who can’t stop snorting in Sidney’s face. 

Sometimes he’s eating dinner alone, knowing that Geno is in Russia, when he looks up and across the table to see Geno reaching over with his fork to stab a carrot off Sidney’s plate (“Best cook,” Geno is teasing. “You lucky you marry me. I’m big cooking talent, you know?”)

Sometimes it’s one AM and he’s horny as hell, letting his hands trail from his stomach to squeeze himself through his underwear when he feels Geno’s hands on his wrist and Geno’s breath in his ear, hot and husky as he promises, “I’ll take care of you.”

He never really questioned why Geno’s there. He’s loved him since the day he saw him at Mario’s. He’s loved him since they both snuck out for McDonalds past curfew, loved the broadness of his hands and the loudness of his voice and the steadiness of his presence as his alternate and his best friend.

Geno could never love him like that in reality. He doesn’t make it a habit of hoping for impossible things, of wasting his own time and breaking his own heart. So he indulges himself in these dreams, begging Geno to fuck him harder into a bed that isn’t his and pray that his own mind isn’t shattered by the time he wakes up.

(It's so  _hard_. Dream Geno treats him so nice, kissing his skin with a reverence that Sidney hadn't even known could ever be possible). 

He picks Geno up at the airport near the end of summer, and when he throws himself into Geno’s open arms, it feels so much like all those times his daydream Geno has held him that he’s afraid that eventually, he’s going to not be able to discern the difference between reality and whatever the hell is happening with his head, and just make a complete fool of himself. Like instinctively leaning in for a kiss.

He holds himself back at the last minute. But only just barely.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sidney’s favorite moments always include the children. He’s long gotten over the shock of possibly losing his mind, to just accepting that these hallucinations occur. They don’t happen often; in fact, their occurrences are rather limited. Sidney can go weeks without having another one of these episodes, and there are times he finds himself going to the park—where he’d found himself pushing the little girl, Sofia, on the swings once—in order to trigger  _something_ to happen.

But it’s been months since an episode, coinciding with his point drought. One night, when Sidney  _finally_  scores the game-winning goal, he celebrates with the team at  _someone_ ’s house, he forget whose. He has one too many red solo cups of champagne, and it happens. He’s mid-conversation with Tanger and Phil, laughing and giggling because he’s a little past tipsy and he’s so damn relieved, when all of a sudden his surroundings shift as he blinks.

And Geno is there, looking handsome and soft in his best suit. He plucks Sidney’s drink out of his hand (a real champagne glass now) and says, “How many you have?”

“Only a couple,” Sidney says, relaxing into Geno’s arms. He’s too relaxed to notice immediately that they’re outdoors, the area decorated with sparkling fairy lights. He hears muffled conversation and laughter all around them, but they may as well have been a million miles away. “Geno, I’m so happy.”

“I’m happy, too,” Geno murmurs. “We finally marry. Think it never happen with you picking out color theme for so long. I tell you, I’m old man when we really marry at this rate.”

“We are?” Sidney leans his head on Geno’s shoulder, lets Geno wrap his arms around his waist and hold him close. “That’s so great. That’s awesome.”

Geno kisses his forehead and chuckles. “Come on, Sid, how many you  _really_  have?”

“Geno,” Sidney says softly. “I love you. You’re not real. But it feels so real. I don’t want to close my eyes and be alone again.”

“Am real,” Geno promises. “I’m never leave you. Already say in vows, remember?”

“I’ll count to three, and you’ll be gone again,” Sidney murmurs into Geno’s shirt.

“Where I’m go? Not go anywhere without husband.”

“You’ll go home. To Russia. Like you do every summer.”

“My home with you now, Sid.” Sidney tries to concentrate on Geno’s voice, sounding as though he’s humoring Sidney; on Geno’s hand rubbing up and down his back. “Hey, I count for you. Show you I’m not go. Like world’s worst magic trick. One. Two.”

“Three,” Sidney whispers.

When Sidney opens his eyes, both Tanger and Phil are giving him the strangest looks.

“You okay, Sid?” Tanger asks. “You zoned out there a little bit.”

Sidney stares at the drink in his hand, then at Geno, who is all the way on the other end of the room, wearing his Pens t-shirt and chatting with a rookie. 

“Sorry guys, I think I’m gonna go h–” He pauses and reconsiders. “I’m going to head out now.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Flower comes over for dinner after a game, and Sidney is immediately reminded of how much he painfully missed Flower when he steps in for a hug. The Pens had lost that round, but surprisingly, Sidney couldn’t quite find it in himself to dwell too much. The last episode—the brief wedding hallucination at a rookie’s place—had been at least three months ago, and Sidney had come to accept that the visions had left for good. It’s been quiet, but every lingering, supportive pat from Geno on his arm is beginning to hurt less and less as the memories of Sofia and the still unnamed baby, and their would-be suburbia house grows fainter yet.

“You feel off,” Flower says, after the dinner plates have been cleared away. “Here, let me help—”

“You’re a guest,” Sidney says, blocking him from reaching towards the faucet. “And do I?”

“A little.” Flower tilts his head. “Distracted. You keep staring off into space.”

“Geno said the same thing,” Sidney says, shrugging. “He snitch on me?”

(He tries to not remember Geno’s worried expression as he steps closer that day in the locker room, saying, “You know anything wrong, you tell me, right?”

“I know,” Sidney had said, tired. “You’re my A. I end up telling you pretty much everything anyways.”

“Not just about A. Not about team. You—we not just–” Geno’s hand somehow finds his way to grip Sidney’s arm, but he seems incapable to saying anything more. A terrible shadow crosses his face. “Is your head, maybe?”

“No,” Sidney says, stepping back and out of Geno’s reach. “I don’t think so. Not anymore.”)

“Is this about the article?” Flower asks. He knows which article Flower is talking about—the one that pops up every once in a while, about how Sidney is a has-been, about when Sidney’s hockey spark will finally die out, and Sidney will lose the one constant he’s come to shape his entire life around. “Because you know that’s a load of bull.”

“It’s not that. My head—it’s—I’ve been seeing things since that hit,” He bites his lips. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“What hit?” Flower sounds alarmed. “I don’t remember—”

“It’s been a while,” Sidney says. “The one during the Flyers game—”

“Sid, that’s  _months_ ago. Jesus. Please tell me you told—”

“It’s not a concussion,” he says. “It’s…God, I think I’m losing my mind. Sometimes I just—I close my eyes and I see the  _craziest_ things—”

“What thing?” Sidney hears—and that’s…that’s Geno’s voice.

He opens his eyes, and instead of Flower, he’s back in the kitchen with the island that he’s come to recognize as his and Geno’s home–warm beige walls with a bulletin board pinned full of children’s drawings and certificates and report cards. It’s in the middle of the day, and Geno is sitting there with his glasses, looking up from his tablet.

“What—” Sidney rubs his eyes with his palm, sighing. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been so tired lately.”

“Told you not to volunteer to be field trip chaperone,” Geno says. He stands up and comes around, looping his arms around Sidney’s waist, as always, and kissing his curls. “When you listen to me?”

“When I’m dead, probably.” The feeling of sinking back in into Geno’s arms, after so long without an episode, is absolutely indescribable. He hadn’t even realized loneliness could take up a physical form in his body until he feels it all fizz out of his chest.

“Work too hard, have to be Captain for hockey  _and_ Captain of PTA.” Geno starts to pepper little kisses on the side of his face, until he feels the tenseness of Sidney’s shoulders start to slip away. “Don’t worry. I’m plan everything for anniversary dinner. You’ll love.”

“Yeah?” Sidney pulls back, trying for a smile. “Do I get a hint?”

Geno slips his fingers under Sidney’s waistband, pulling a bit. “Maybe a little preview. Like movies.”

“That was so bad,” Sidney giggles, knocking his forehead back against Geno’s shoulder. “Why did I marry you?”

“No refunds,” Geno says, nipping at Sidney’s throat. “You’re not leave me with three kids.”

“G—”

“Sid?” It’s Flower’s voice.

But…

But he’s still in his dream kitchen. And Geno looks startled as well.

“Do you hear…Flower?” Geno furrows his brows. “Isn’t Flower in Vegas?”

“You hear him too?”

“Sidney, this is freaking me out, where the hell am—” And Flower appears around the corner of the hallway, staring at Sidney and Geno tangled together, looking as if he’s seen a ghost. “Sid, what’s happening?”

Sidney blinks.

And he and Flower are back in Sidney’s own kitchen. It’s dark outside, and the faucet is still running.

“What the  _fuck_ just happened?” Flower asks, his voice on the edge of panic. “Were you—was that  _you_ and Geno?”

Sidney doesn’t have a good answer.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Call me when you have another episode,” Flower says at the airport. “You pulled me into this, you might pull other people through to—to whatever Stranger Things universe you end up in. Fuck, Sid, how did you just assume they were  _dreams_?”

“Because the alternative is too fucking weird,” Sidney says. He didn’t mean to sound pissed, but it comes out that way. “It’s not like I want it to happen—”

“Sid—” Flower looks mortified. “That’s not what I meant. What if you don’t come back?”

“I always come back,” Sidney tells him. “Whether I want to or not.”

“Oh, Sid.” Flower softens, looking slightly pained as he grabs Sidney in for a hug.

He buries his face in Flower’s shoulder. “I’m going to miss you.”

Flower doesn’t reply immediately, but he clutches the back of Sidney’s shirt a little harder.

“We need you here,” he says. “The Pens need you here.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it, Sid. You call me the moment it happens again.”

Sidney pulls back, swallowing the catch in his throat as he lets Flower go.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn’t happen again for weeks.

Sidney hadn’t realized how miserable he’d become until Jake starts to ask if he’s feeling okay in the mornings. Then Tanger. Then Sully. Then, on a Friday night, Geno, who corners him after practice.

“Need to talk to you,” he says, blocking Sidney’s path.

“About the game?”

“About you. You avoid me. I _notice_.”

Sidney’s mood drops. “Then no. Excuse me.”

Geno shifts a step to the left, so Sidney has no choice but to look up at his exasperated scowl.

“I tell you before, we  _team_. I tell you when something bother me, you tell me too. Not have to go alone, like—like you only one in whole world. When you going listen to me?”

“When I’m dead,” Sidney says, just to be spiteful. “Could you please—”

“No, Sid, you listen—”

“I want to go  _home_ —”

The moment Geno’s hand touches his shoulder, he feels a gust of cold air before he realizes he’s outside. The lights are dimmed, he’s in a crisp suit, and their teammates and family are all around them, snapping photos and dressed in their best. He’s relieved for the momentary escape, but soon notices that Geno looks absolutely bewildered, and his grip on Sidney’s shoulders has only tightened.

“Sid,” he says, staring around him in wonder. “Sid, what—”

A voice, far off and foreign to Sidney’s ears, croons on top of the music, “Ladies and gentlemen, please join us to celebrate Sidney and Evgeni’s first dance as husbands—”

Sidney feels something stinging rising up in his throat. “I’m so sor—”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Daddy!” Sofia shrieks, her arms flapping as she flies into Sidney’s arms. “Dad, I got an A on my reading test! I got an A.”

“That’s great, honey,” Sidney says, his heart beating a million miles an hour. He’s never shifted surroundings this fast before. “I’m so proud of you.”

Sofia pulls out of his arms and looks behind Sidney as she says, “Papa, look at my test! I got all of them right! Can we get ice cream?”

Sidney turns around just in time to see Geno’s wide-eyed, slack-jawed face before he blinks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“He’s a cutie,” Taylor coos at the yawning baby in her arms. “I’m your Aunt Taylor, sweetheart. Look at you. Squid, you and Geno should name him after me.”

Sidney stammers, “I don’t—”

“Geno agrees with me. Right, G?” Taylor puts the baby in his arms, and Geno looks as though he can barely breathe as he cradles the child carefully. “Oh, by the way, Mom and Dad want photos of him wearing the hockey skate booties I bought, lemme get them—”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Happy anniversary, Dads,” Sofia says, grown up now and radiant as she leans in to kiss both Sidney and Geno on the cheek. “Anton and I tried baking a cake, but Anton ate it.”

“Did  _not_ ,” Anton retorts. “We accidentally dropped it. And  _then_ I ate it. Aunt Taylor’s out buying the backup and Grandma and Grandpa are on their way, so don’t leave the house just yet.”

“It’s a surprise, dumbass, don’t tell them  _that—_ ”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I want a love like you and Papa have, one day,” Sofia says, leaning across the kitchen island. “I don’t think I know anyone else who loves you as much as Papa does.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’re back in the locker room and Sidney feels Geno physically take a step back like he’s been burnt.

Sidney doesn’t run out of the locker room, but it’s a close thing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They don’t have practice the next day, and Geno doesn’t try to contact Sidney.

Sidney eats his dinner alone at home and waits for an episode.

It doesn’t come.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Geno doesn’t meet his eyes during practice, and Sidney feels something inside him break and sift out as if it were sand, until all he feels is his heart echoing in the hollow space, like footsteps in an empty room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

His doorbells rings at around 11 PM, right around when Sidney is debating whether or not he should sleep.

He has to restrain himself before he shuts the door in Geno’s face reflexively.

“What are you doing here?”

Geno licks his lips, looking unsure. He’s in his Pens shirt and sweatpants, as if he’d hopped into his car and driven over here on a whim. “I—I don’t know.”

“Then…” Sidney feels like crying. But he can’t, not in front of Geno. “You should go home, then.”

“Sid, no, I—” Geno wrings his hands helplessly. “Not have words. But I’m try. Please listen.”

He can’t bear it. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what happened. I don’t know why it happened, I don’t know how. I never wanted to tell you. And I wish it’d stop, God, I wish—”

“You not—you not want it?”

“Geno,” he croaks out. “I want that life so fucking bad, I can’t even begin to tell you. But I know whatever is happening there isn’t going to happen here, I get it. You don’t have to come over here to let me down easy. I  _know_ you don’t feel the same, and I know this is awkward and I understand if you don’t—” He nearly chokes on the last word. “If you don’t want to play hockey with m—”

Geno kisses him.

He’s as warm as the visions had been, and his lips are a little chapped but still so, so good. His arms hold him fast, and Sidney can’t help but close his eyes and melt into Geno.

They pull apart, but Sidney’s still close enough to feel Geno’s breath, the ghost of Geno’s mouth numbing his own. He opens his eyes, but the real Geno,  _his_ Geno, is still there, perfect and solid on Sidney’s front porch.

Geno shakes his head, his voice soft. “Sid, I’m say before when I not have words to say right, in English, but inside I’m—I go home that night, thinking because I never hope, it’s too big dream, maybe thinking he just be nice to me. Just being Sid, you know, so smart, so kind.” He thumbs at Sidney’s lips, as if at a loss of words. “And I’m only—” He forehead knocks against Sidney’s. “Sid, how long?”

“How long the—the dreams?”

“No, how long you feel about me?”

“A long time,” Sidney replies. “Always, maybe.”

Geno looks as though as he can’t stop marveling.

“Me, too,” he whispers.

Sidney doesn’t have to ask before Geno kisses him again. And again. And again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Hi, Flower. This is Sid. Uh. But you probably know that, because of, uh, caller ID. Anyways. I know you guys are playing right now but, uh, just wanted to leave a message to wish you guys good luck. And that, um, I had another—another episode a couple days ago. But it’s okay. It’s good now. It’s really good. Just wanted to ask if you want to get dinner with me and Geno with next time you’re in Pittsburgh, because, um. Geno and I—we’re—we talked. And we’re doing really well. We’re about to head out to dinner, actually, he made reservations at that place you said Vero loves, but he’s still getting ready even though he’s the one saying I take too long. Oh, wait, he’s here now. Anyways. Let me know. Good luck again. Miss you, man. You’re gonna kill it tonight.”_

 

* * *

“What was favorite memory?” Geno asks him, late at night. “When you go into dreams?”

They’re almost pressed nose to nose, and Geno’s looking so sweet and wonderful that it makes Sidney’s breath catch.

“When you loved me,” he answers softly.

He’s a little buzzed on good wine and rich food and feels desperately and utterly complete, in a way that he hasn’t felt for a long, long time. 

“I always love you,” Geno says, puzzled.

Sidney’s fingers finds Geno’s palm, and he clasps their hands together. “Then all of them, I guess.”

 

 

 

 

**END**

 

 


End file.
